


A Grace Too Powerful To Name

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), overwatch
Genre: Badly translated Japanese, Drinking, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fingering, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of drinking, Oral Sex, Pining, Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: After a heavy dose of Widowmaker’s aphrodisiac bomb, Hanzo is out of control with desire for Reader.  Ashamed and appalled at his behavior, he retreats into his own private hell until the reader pulls him out.  With a little nudge from Genji.(And the song which inspired this is from the musical “Hamilton” — “It’s Quiet Uptown”.  My character edits it to speak her heart, so I apologize in advance to those who are fans and composer Lin-Manuel Miranda.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The reader’s song is from “It’s Quiet Uptown” by Lin-Manuel Miranda. If you haven’t listened to it, please do. Even though my character edited it and took some liberties with the song to make it speak her heart, the original song is amazing and I encourage everyone to listen.

It was talent night at Overwatch. The idea was really Tracer’s—she loved these things and she could rock the clarinet. Jack brought out a beat up electric guitar, which prompted Jesse to bring out a harmonica and acoustic guitar. His harmonica skills were deplorable and even Winston remarked that it sounded like a wounded cat, which made Jesse blush and switch to the guitar even faster.

There was a normal assortment of “talents”—balancing things on a pin, singing, flutes, and even a belly dancer. Everyone was more interested in the food and talking anyway, even against Jesse’s soulful crooning. Which was a terribly good thing, because you were next with your little song.

It was a really popular one a long time ago—from a catchy little historical musical from years and years ago. Even 76 grudgingly admitted that he had seen it, which was moderately empowering—at least someone had heard of it. It would have been really humiliating to discover that in a base with over 1000 people, you were the only musical nerd.

Of course, there was more than one reason you chose this song. It was—hopefully—going to be a message to a certain archer in the audience. He was there—you had peeked out of the curtain to see—and was sitting in a back corner idly watching the acts.


	2. Chapter 1

The last mission had failed miserably. Actually, you felt like you failed. You were ecstatic that you had been paired with the archer, Hanzo. He had spent so much time with you, helping you get acclimated to the high-stress, high-casualty atmosphere. Despite being hopeless with a bow—at least in your eyes because he kept telling you that you only needed practice—you definitely improved thanks to his tutoring on aiming and proper siting. He was now your mentor, guiding you and helping you with this rather unconventional career choice. 

You were supposed to cover the exit—the passage that the whole team would use to leave the location. Hanzo was perched above you, somewhere on top of a balcony or a rooftop, making sure that you were covered. You tried to resist blushing as you thought of him watching you from whatever perch he was settled on. He was infuriatingly good at hiding in plain sight and vanishing against the most innocuous of walls. You didn’t quite resist an extra shake of your ass as you crept to your post, but there was no comment over the communication headset, so you consoled yourself that at least your crush—and your commanding officer—hadn’t seen your careless moves.

The commander kept the advance party on target, inching towards the payload in silence, until all hell broke lose. Someone must have said something and betrayed this mission to the enemy, because almost as soon as the advance party was in sight of the payload, there was an explosion. There was coughing and choking—someone shouted “it’s a Widowmaker special” before coughing and sputtering into static—and people began staggering past you to the retreat muster point.

When you saw a bedraggled group of three agents stagger past you, you heard the commander ask for backup. Immediately, you responded, “I can cover you.”

Hanzo’s voice came immediately, “Negative. You need to cover the rear.” There was a pause. “I will relocate to your location.”

“It’s less than a block for me,” you volunteered impulsively. “I’ve got you, Commander.”

“Affirmative,” crackled the reply. “A block away sounds better. Hanzo, cover her.”

“Affirmative,” said Hanzo sourly. “Watch your back.”

“I will,” you replied. Away from the headset, where it wouldn’t be broadcast, you added softly, “I’ll make you proud.”

His voice came over the intercom, “I know you will.”

You let out an soft, embarrassed cry. Resolutely, you crept forward, swallowing your flush and trying not to feel your burning cheeks. Small groups of team members slid out, looking flushed and strangely...strained.

“Commander,” Hanzo interrupted. “I want to get closer for cover.”

“Agreed. Move closer. Agent, stand down. Wait for cover.”

“Affirmative,” you muttered. Looking around, there was a convenient alley and you decided it was as good a place as any to wait for your cover. If it was anyone else, you’d feel patronized, but you felt actually very safe and protected as the archer maneuvered closer.

“So what am I on alert for?” you asked, about a half second before you saw Reaper dropping the canister in the street before vanishing into his wraith form. “Never mind.”

It was a “Widowmaker special” all right—but it was strange. The canister had dark pink inside it, rather than the usual black-green or purple. Someone apparently had a dark sense of humor and had put on bows in red, pink or gold and the occasionally lipstick kiss shaped stickers.

Avoiding that little “gift”, you ducked further in the alley. A cool breath of air brushed past you as you found a deep shadow.

“Lookout!” shouted the archer. Glancing up, you saw him drop what had to be over 20 feet from a rooftop to an awning and then to the street.

You stopped instantly at his gravely shout, ducking behind the first thing you could see. He came running up at fast as he could, sure that he was about to see you explode into tiny pieces. Skidding behind you, he was about to shout something else, but another of those devilish devices rolled right up beside you as the cackling shadow of the wraith vanished.

Everything happened so fast that you barely saw it. The little pink canister rolled up with a cheeky red satin ribbon on it and two little lipstick kiss stickers on it. Hanzo glanced at it and instinctively wrapped completely around you, dropping his bow and quiver. He yanked the golden fabric from his hair with a terrible sound and pulled it tight over your face and shoved you.

You were practically airborne as you skidded across the street. The bomb exploded in a fury of pink gas, enveloping the man almost entirely. Your scream echoed in the street, sure that he’d be melted or mutated or something.

Instead, he seemed to stand in a wobbly fashion. His eyes were wild, his hair was blown in the wind. He coughed a bit, kneeling suddenly in a clumsy way as he gathered up his weapons, and your voice was hoarse as you screeched for a pickup and tried to guide you both to the muster point. The drop ship was mercifully quick and you were both off the street in record time.


	3. Chapter 2

Mercy was right there when you both entered and put him in a minuscule private cabin on the drop ship to avoid contagion. She shooed you out while she locked the door and examined him. After a few agonizing minutes, she unlocked the door and you burst in. The doctor only looked at him a little sadly as he waved her away to stumble into a kneeling position.

Mercy whispered to you softly, “He’ll.... He says that he’ll be fine.”

“Have you checked him out?” You felt the hysterical note in your voice that caused an ear splitting crack in the tone. “Really? Will he be fine?”

Mercy—unflappable and proud and somehow regal no matter how much crap she’d been through—flushed a bit and nodded. “I’ve...seen the effects before. He’ll...be fine. I think.”

“I can hear you both,” he whispered in his deep voice.

“We’ll leave you alone if you really want that,” Mercy murmured.

Hanzo refused to look at you, focusing on a small spot of dirt on the wall. His breath was in a quick, fluttery pattern and he seemed to be panting and sweating. Taking a deep breath, he paused again, looking at that spot as though he loved it. “I will be fine, Doctor.”

“Really, I recommend...assistance,” Mercy said, flushing.

“I will be fine,” he repeated, deeply breathing the stale air of the ship.

“I want to stay,” you whispered softly. For a moment, you thought you saw him shiver. “You look...like you have a fever.”

“He doesn’t,” Mercy murmured.

He cleared his throat. “You have other patients, Doctor. Go tend them.”

Mercy sighed. “Good luck. I won’t force you out, but I would not press him too hard. He’s going to be at the end of his rope soon.”

“I can handle this,” Hanzo growled impatiently, his breath becoming shallow again. “Go, Doctor.” He took another deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I assure you both that my meditations will handle this.”

“I’ll just sit here,” you whispered as the doctor left.

The air felt thicker when the door closed behind her. You sniffed a little at the vague perfume that seemed to cling to him. “Hey...is there anything I can get you?”

There was a short, strangled sound and he shook his head shortly. You watched him a bit, just watching for a reaction. But there was nothing—just the silent man breathing in and out in a slow and even rhythm.

Was it just the light—or was he sweating a little more?

You sat on the floor, trying to figure out what was actually going on when you heard a soft, sweet sound. He was kneeling, and still staring at that spot, but his muscles were entirely bunched tight and there was a fine sheen on his dusky skin.

“I can...smell you,” he panted.

You started a little. Not sure whether or not this was a good thing. 

“I can smell your...scent,” he breathed. “I can smell your perfume.”

You shook a bit and felt your cheeks burn. At least he had clarified—for a minute, you were sure that you reeked so badly from the battle that he could smell your funk over there.

“It is the scent of...lotus,” Hanzo breathed slowly, tilting his head back. “I can....”

“Sorry,” you muttered shyly.

“You do not need to stay here,” he muttered. “I will survive this.”

“I want to,” you whispered. You watched him as he meditated, breathing slowly in an out. 

It seemed like it was forever before the ship shuddered. “Sorry, loves,” Tracer’s voice rang out through the ship. “We ‘ave a big storm and will need to go ‘round it.”

You were watching the archer, though. When the ship shuddered, it threatened to spill him from his kneeling posture. That was not unusual—anyone could be thrown off balance as the notoriously jerky drop ships lurched around. 

What was unusual was the look on his face. He was utterly composed all the time, stoic and silent. But as you were both tossed around a bit, as his thighs squeezed and when the slight friction of movement gritted against him, his face briefly transformed into a look of ecstasy.

It made your mouth dry to see the archer with his guard down and his eyes cloudy with pleasure. He barely seemed to notice you as he gulped in the air and his eyes slid closed.

But it was just a moment. A split second later, he knelt again with his back to you. The the silence resumed and he panted his way into gradually longer and smoother breathing.

“Should...I leave?” You asked the question softly and hesitantly.

“Be...silent,” he hissed. “It is most difficult to...concentrate.”

“What is wrong?” You instantly regretted the harsh whisper as his face sharpened into what might be anger. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I am meditating,” he explained. “To alleviate the affects of that...gas.”

You cocked your head, looking at him. His eyes seemed to be ever darker and somehow smoldering hot at the same time. “Wh.... Would you like me to meditate with you?”

“I would...appreciate it.” He gestured shortly at the space next to him. “It will help me if you meditate nearby.” You knelt near him, copying his movements—or lack of movement. He watched you carefully as you settled in. “Now...let us concentrate.”

After a few minutes, you cracked your eyes to watch him. His gaze flickered to you and around you unexpectedly, taking in one feature and then another like a darting dragonfly. When you opened your eyes, though, he was looking at some point on the wall. You flushed a little—those little glances might have been your imagination.

Unexpectedly, he broke the silence. “What are you doing?”

Caught staring at him again, you turned away and look at the wall. “I—I am so sorry.”

“You are flushed,” he whispered hoarsely. “Whatever are you thinking to put such a color on the delicate blossom of your cheeks?”

You stared at him more openly. “That sounds like poetry.”

He sighed heavily and smiled a little sadly. “You do not get told often enough how beautiful you are. Or you would not blush so prettily.”

He arched backwards, taking in a deep breath that seemed to fill his lungs. “I...still smell the lotus.” He closed his eyes wearily and sighed again. “It is...a comfort in this hour.”

You couldn’t help it, you turned towards him. He was sweating profusely, his every muscle clenched. His eyes were glassy and yet somehow focused, deep pools of darkest chocolate. “Please...let me help.”

He sighed again, watching you closely and warmly before glancing away reluctantly. “You do not need to be burdened with my problems.”

“A battle is hardly just your problem,” you muttered towards him. Sliding a little closer, you nudged him. “Am I not your friend?”

He hissed slightly, curling up like you had just hit him in the gut. “Y-you are m-m-my friend.” He pounded a fist into the floor and it took everything in you not to jump. “You are—.”

“I am to blame for this,” you whispered. “If you hadn’t tried to save me, you wouldn’t have been hit.” You reached out to touch his shuddering shoulder. “Please let me help you.”

In a blinding movement, he had you down on the ground, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly enough that you knew it would bruise. There was some name for this hold—his hands on your shoulders, his legs straddling your hips and his face fearsome and growling over yours. There was a defense for it too, but you couldn’t remember either of them as you looked into his eyes.

“You cannot,” he whispered. He licked his lips hungrily. “You cannot...help me.”

You shifted slightly, holding your hands up plaintively. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll...I’ll just go away.”

The drop ship took that moment of agonized silence to shudder uncertainly like a colt just learning to walk and dropped a few inches. His legs shuddered too and just as quickly, his hips were pressed into yours.

You flushed, about to mutter some banal comment about how shaky the trip was until you really looked at his face. He was handsome—that went without saying—and you thought you had seen every look he had. You had seen him stern and solemn, bruised and battered, stoic and calm, slicked back and polished.

But you had not seen his ecstasy.

His eyes rolled back and flickered shut, his ridiculously thick lashes lying on his sharp cheekbones. His hair still billowed around his shoulders like thick bands of silken thread, but now it spilled down around his face like dark coffee. He tilted his head back as though he had just caught scent of ambrosia from heaven, his throat tempting and bare and salty with sweat. Even his breath caught, his muscles clenched tight, and then it stuttered out in breathless pants.

His muscles moved slowly, as though they were unwilling to stir. You felt every muscle strain for a moment, gathering closely around you in a delicious friction. Even his hips seemed to press against you, prompting him to hiss in another shuddering breath.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something, but was interrupted as he let out a breathless string of curses in Japanese. He dropped his hips again for another shuddering grind against your belly, his cock thick and hard and fever hot through the silk of his hakama and your own thin shirt.

He bit his lip softly as he began forcing himself to pull back. He opened his eyes to mere slits, unwillingly groaning as he sat up. Curling up, he sat back on his heels.

You whimpered softly as his heat left you for the too dry, too cold air of the drop ship. He hissed at the sound, as though it offended him, but the sound was so intimate that you felt your own muscles clench. More heat pooled between your legs and you felt the sudden prickle of moisture between your legs.

Words spilled out almost without you controlling them. “I am so sorry, Hanzo.”

That forced a scowl. His brows beetled down and the scowl torqued his face. His nostrils flared like a dragon scenting prey. “What?!” he growled, his jaw snapping. “What do you have to be sorry for?!”

“I did....didn’t mean to.... I....too forward,” you babbled, your cheeks flushing. Abruptly, you bit your tongue, just before you added “and I want you to do it again”.

He groaned and his hands fisted on his thighs. “The gas.... It...it is not your fault,” he sighed out. Then he growled, “It is....” 

You froze under his intense stare. “Can you.... Do you need...?”

He let out an eerie shout—half ki-yah and half agonized howl. You shuddered and even those small sounds seemed to echo like an afterthought of his sound. His bloodshot eyes pinned you down as his breath panted in and out like a freight train. You felt arousal bubble in your stomach and pool between your legs as the strong man licked his lips as he looked at you.

Without waiting for you to finish your thought or words, he leapt back on top of you. His immense hands curled around your wrists, slamming them down against the unforgiving floor and his muscular thighs driving yours apart. His face was inches from yours, so close that his long hair tickled your cheeks. Eyes hard, he stared into your face, panting, “You need to stay still.”

You shuddered at the thick, furred words in that voice that was suddenly fathoms deep. He sucked in a shaky breath and suddenly dipped his face. His tongue laved down your throat, pausing to taste the salt of your sweat at the base. Shaking, he hissed, “You need to obey me. Completely. Everything I say.”

Your mind went white with heat as his almond eyes snapped back to yours. Shaking, you nodded jerkily. He did nothing, still as a panther on the prowl, watching you. You shifted restlessly, the heat pooling down from your breasts to your belly to your aching heat. If he didn’t do something, you’d go mad from the aching lust prowling in your gut.

“Words,” he demanded with a hiss. “I need you to obey me.”

“I will,” you whimpered.

He watched you for another breathless moment. Then he nodded. “I need your—,” he paused and licked up and down your throat again. “—complete obedience.”

“I will!” you promised recklessly, pulling futilely at his unmoving hands. 

He growled softly. With an innate and beautiful agility, he took off his belt and wrapped it around your wrists. For a moment, as he shucked off the hakama and yukata top, you saw not Hanzo the hero of Overwatch, but Shimada Hanzo the master of dragons and yakuza who was as deadly as he was beautiful.

His hands ripped open your shirt and bra in a single, restless swipe. Another swipe and your pants were at your knees. You started to drag down your wrists to push down your pants and he growled. With a restless movement, he slapped your hands. “Obedience or else,” he hissed.

You whined and started to curl up, but he growled so low. His hand came up, and threatened a slap across your face. “Obedience,” he hissed and then groaned as your eyes went wide and you shivered in pleasure. You laid back down and turned your head to the side submissively, stretching your bound wrists up above your head. “I need your obedience.”

He relaxed, blowing a puff of relieved air across your chest. “I-I-I will reward you...later. But I need this. I need your obedience.”

You nodded again, shakily, and loosened your thighs.

“I will n-n-not hurt you,” he panted, his hand shaking as it slipped down between your legs. His fingers, rough and unsteady, dipped into your waiting moisture. Sucking in a breath of relief, he dipped the rough tip of his finger into the heated pool and swirled it around. Even as he shook, he pushed gently two knuckles deep.

“You are...r-r-ready,” he sighed. Relief was evident in his voice. A shiver wracked him once more. He shifted above you without another word and shot you a look. “I...I—.”

“I am ready,” you breathed out, spreading even wider for him.

He groaned and let a shaky breath out before dropping down. With a sweaty shove, he pounded his impatient cock into you.

You squeaked. You couldn’t help it. You were filled to his hilt and it stretched you in all the right ways, burning and forcing the tiny sound out of you. Even the little shudders down his spine seemed to vibrate through your joined bodies.

He groaned again, his hips starting pumping in a stuttering rhythm. “I cannot stop,” he growled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His hips retreated and slammed forward. “I...can...not...stop!”

Moaning, you felt the heat building in shuddering bursts, like firework after firework. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He growled, low and throaty, and grabbed your hips to pull them even harder, impaling you until it felt like you would split in twain.

In three more thrusts, he grunted and his hips ground against you. Liquid warmth spread and filled you, and you whined as your own climax was tangled in a frustrated knot in your gut.

The archer’s head dropped and tiny beads of sweat dropped from his brow. His cheek, rough with his normally smooth beard, nuzzled your breast. He slid out, suddenly soft. You whimpered a little and he sucked in a breath and nodded jerkily.

“I know...I have not...,” he moaned. He sucked in a raspy breath, licking the sweat above his lips. “I will—.”

You sucked in a breath, feeling him grow hard again. He let out a soft whine of his own. You grinned and relaxed your thighs again in welcome.

“I..I don’t want to,” he whispered, unconsciously nuzzling your skin again. “I want...to....” He growled as his hips pistoned against your thighs. Gloriously hard and boiling hot again, he rubbed gently against your soft skin.

You bucked and whined, “Please, Hanzo.”

He growled, his eyes all but glowing as he glared down at you. “I am the one in control, remember?” he hissed.

Impatiently, you licked his sweaty shoulder, curling and trying to angle up to lick him. His sweat was so salty it tasted sweet. His hands curled painfully, his fingers digging so deep that they were sure to bruise, and you cried out.

“I ...,” he gasped for a breath. “If you obey me, I won’t hurt you.” He licked you, his tongue hot scraping the sensitive skin of your neck. His voice was soft and dark velvet, “Obedience w-w-will be rewarded.”

“Fuck me,” you breathed, forcing yourself to lay down again.

“Such a...foul mouth,” he hissed almost angrily. “I will have to silence you.” He shuddered again. “It is...is happening again.” He shot you a molten look. “I won’t leave you hungry for long.”

His lips locked over your gaping mouth as he slid back into your warmth. Instantly, the tension to climax racked you again, and your legs locked around him. His lips left yours to trace down your neck as he balanced on his elbows and knees, driving ever and ever deeper.

You rocked up, bucking into him as a tight twist of pleasure lit inside your belly. He shook his head, the sweaty tendrils of hair tickling as they flicked across your chest. “Too s-s-sen-si-tive.” He kept rocking against you, thrusting in and out at a maddening pace.

He pinned you with one hand and the other began massaging your breast. “You...delicious. More.” He skimmed the nipple of one breast with a thumb and the other with his wicked tongue.

The drug or whatever that was bedeviling him did not let him stay gentle for long. Within seconds, he was slamming back and forth, the floor rocking as he did it. “More,” he chanted, along with broken curses in Japanese. “More.” He panted. “More and more and....never tired.”

Groaning, you clung to him the only way you knew how—by clamping on that thrusting cock. You sucked in a restless breath and wailed as his free hand crept down and began rubbing the delicate nubbin of tense nerves just above his thrusting cock. “Too...good,” you whispered in his ear. “You are...too good.” Abruptly, he looked at you with a pained expression. “Don’t...stop....”

Another groaning thrust.

“I won’t,” he groaned, his his suddenly thrusting harder and faster. “I...can’t...stop.”

“Don’t stop. Too good,” you wailed. The boiling in your veins made it harder to speak and you settled for kissing the archer’s head. “Please!”

He only went faster, the rough callouses on his thumb strumming your clit ever more and ever tighter. Every word that you mumbled out seemed to goad him to go faster and harder. “I won’t hurt.... I don’t want to hurt you.”

You hissed at his words. So close. You were so close that you could taste it. His hips ground in and with a single, blazing stroke, you fell over the edge with a wail. The world went white hot as his cock still pumped. Pushing non-stop, you rode out your climax, only to have the shuddering archer thrust to the hilt and fill you with his seed again.

He grimaced, his jaws set harshly as he pulled out almost instantly. He pushed himself up and away, his skin feeling hot and restless. Surely it could not happen again? But he felt himself heating up once more.

He glanced at you, taking in your bruised skin, spread thighs, and the puddle of cum beneath you. With a shaking hand, he touched the cum and then your aching intimate flesh. Looking up to you, his face went pale and anguished. “I...I..,” he began.

You shook a little, feeling his thumb scrape the raw flesh. You tried to smile, but he turned away. “Hanzo—,” you began. Unfortunately, his body was still enthralled and you felt him slowly growing hard again. “Oh my god, again?!”

He jerked, hissing. “Just...just listen to me.”

You nodded again uncertainly. With a dry throat, you whispered, “What do I need to do?”

“Your mouth,” he said finally. “Gently.” You didn’t know what to say. Your thighs ached and you felt vaguely raw. But the his stillness and aching desperation was electric. He glanced at you, saw the bruises already forming and the hot pink raw flesh that seemed too hurt to touch. He let out an disgusted snort and toss of his head. “I.... You have done enough.” He growled a little and nodded to himself. “It...it is too much to ask.”

“N-n-no,” you burbled. “I.... Can I move now?”

He sat back and nodded with an air of confusion. You rolled over and knelt between his legs. His hands shook as he guided your head. As gently as you could manage—particularly with the unfamiliar restriction of his belt on your wrists—you kissed his red cock gently.

He moaned, bucking a little. Cracking an eye to look down at you, he purred—just a deep, rumbling purr in his throat. Sinking his fingers into your hair, he pulled you further. In a deep sigh, he hissed as your lips touched the overstimulated skin and jerky Japanese words spilled out.

You perked up, to ask him what he meant, but his fingers held your head right where he needed it most, with your lips wrapped around him as softly as you were able. He grew even harder in your mouth and with his fingers pulling your hair, you fought to keep your strokes light and gentle.

“No,” he snapped almost angrily. “Not so soft.” You added some pressure, a little more suction. “I want you to be....hard.”

Looking up at him, you saw him panting and sweating above you. With a jerk of your head, you suckled him. His head rolled back in agonized pleasure. “I want you to know you are....” He cursed again in Japanese—the words flowing and melodic for all of their fury.

You dared to pull back out of his fumbling fingers, smile and pant up at him, “What am I?”

His eyes snapped open and he saw the sarcastic challenge in your eyes. With a shove, he pushed you on your back again, smirking as your thighs opened. “You should learn not to challenge me!”

You were going to make some smartass remark—you really were, but suddenly you were on your belly. You tried to lay down, but there was something wet under your cheek—the cold puddle of cum. He settled quickly between your splayed legs and entered you again with another curl of his hips.

With a hoarse growl, he thrust into you again. Thick cum squelched out from you as he thrust, creating another puddle on the floor. One hand locked onto the back of your head and pushed your head into the puddle at your face. “I am your master,” he whispered in a darkly hoarse tone. “You are mine.” His hips pushed forward again. “Mine. Mine. Mine!”

You nodded blindly. The heat in your veins boiled again. You felt so filthy, laying in the sweat and cum. And the black magic heat as he began slowly sliding in and out set fire to your blood—dammit again.

He leaned over you, agony etching his voice. “Mine,” he whispered grinding against you. “Mine.” Somehow he got the hand not tangled in your hair up and smeared some of the cum in your mouth. “Mine. My cum.” He thrust again wildly as more boiling hot words spilled out. “My seed—all over you. Everything. All mine.”

Lightning lit you up as he thrust his cum covered fingers into your mouth, spreading tangy-sour taste all over your tongue. You bucked up against him, responding to his cock as naturally as the tides. He moaned in your ears and nipped your skin in return, with more words peppered across your tangled hair and shoulders. “Mine. All mine. All my....mine. All covered in my cum.”

The coil of heat poured through you as he thrust harder. Snapping his hips, he licked all across your shoulders, pausing to nip at the skin and then suckle it. When you finally whined, arching your back and trying to get him even deeper, he moaned again, “I want you...all mine. No one else’s.”

“Yes,” you hissed in reply, curving up your hips even more. His cock—that thick, lovely cock—scraped so deep now. Your mouth opened wordlessly, almost like you were expecting him to come out of it. “Whatever you want. Whenever you want it.”

For a moment, he froze, and then he ground into you like he was going to pound you into the floor. He cursed profusely as his hips stuttered in and out. You didn’t need to understand any Japanese to know that these were words of fury. In a flurry of thrusts—so fast in and out and so amazingly hot it felt like you were on fire—he groaned against your back. Your orgasm came thundering through you like a rampaging herd of beasts and every nerve went electric. The moment you clamped down on him, your walls fluttering and gripping him, he fell over the edge himself.

You both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and a sheen of sweat. You squirmed a little, feeling the cool liquid on the floor. Hanzo cracked an eye and scooted backwards, pulling you with him. Too tired to argue, you let him arrange you and lay behind you. With a soft moan, you feel the drop ship shake again. His hand came up limply and gently stroked your hair. You started to pull your hands up to tuck under your head, but found him stretching out his arm and nudging your head back down to lay on it.

It didn’t take much—not more than a few gentle strokes and a soft, wordless croon—before you were asleep.


	4. Chapter 3

Tracer’s voice was the next thing you heard. “Sorry about that, luvs,” she warbled over the speaker. “Well.... It’s a long story, but the good news is that we are about ten minutes out from the base, so if you all...well....” Her voice trailed off and there was the static of another voice in the background before she came back. You could hear the embarrassed flush on her cheeks. “SOoooo, if you all want to... well, get decent—up. If you all want to get up—I meant ‘get up’—and get going then we’ll be home in just a tick.”

Hanzo grunted blearily. “Inhuman wench,” he grumbled. “We should get dressed.”

You expected him to come over, collect you in his arms. To kiss you gently. You expected something warm and friendly and soothing.

Instead, he glanced at you nervously. His hands twitched as he untied his belt from your wrists. Thankfully, your pants were in mostly good shape—good enough to wear while bolting back into the base, at least—but your shirt was completely ruined.

Hanzo gingerly pulled on his hakama and tied his belt with a grimace. You smiled shyly over at him, relieved that his face seemed to be more at peace and even more relieved that he was limp.

He glanced nervously around the little cabin, starting at the sight of the puddles. Silently taking up the ruin of your shirt, he hastily wiped up the worst of the puddles before tossing it in the garbage bin.

“I kind of needed that,” you muttered sourly, feeling neglected and annoyed. And alone. 

Without looking up at you, he wrapped your shivering form in his yukata top. He handed you your pack and weapons silently. You expected at least a little smile—a small token of warmth—but he stood off to one side, staring at the door to the cabin blankly.

“Hanzo,” you whispered. “W-w-what’s wrong?”

“Mercy will be here soon,” he predicted.

Almost as if he had summoned her with witchcraft, the door alert chimed and Mercy’s voice came over the speaker. “Is...everything all right in there?”

You glared at Hanzo as he casually answered, “We are well, Doctor.”

“Good,” she chirped. “I will expect to examine you both within the next 24 hours, though.”

“Of course,” he answered. “She needs care and support.” He paused. “I...insist that she gets proper care immediately.”

“You, too, Archer,” parried the doctor. You saw him pointedly ignoring the female voice on the speaker. “I insist.”

Your mouth went dry for a moment. Perhaps he simply wasn’t a cuddler. Maybe he simply didn’t.... But he didn’t even look at you.

The ship landed with a thud and he shouldered his weapons. Staring rigidly ahead, he opened the door and left. His steps were swift and silent as he left you behind. You gaped at his silent departure. This could not be the end of it. You darted out, trying to catch up and avoid the other passengers at the same time.

With a growing feeling of disappointment, you realized that it was the end. At least for him. You didn’t see him—not at meals, not on the range, not in meetings—for a solid week. At first it wasn’t too bad—most everyone was uncomfortable and not looking at anyone else because everyone knew what those devilish little bombs were and what they did. But the usual gossip that would follow such a thing was muted—almost as though what happened in the couples and groups that formed was a sensitive subject that no one wanted to know about.

The second week, you did finally catch glimpses of the archer—mostly during mandatory meetings. He still didn’t appear in the mess hall—or at least, not at the times that you managed to show yourself. His schedule suddenly changed to night watches while you were assigned to day shifts—a change that Soldier 76 only shrugged and grunted at when you asked him.

The third week you were growing tired of trying to find him. No one that you could corner was able to tell you anything you didn’t already know. It was enough to make you scream. Annoyed, you threw yourself into your work, burying yourself in reports and training until your eyes were blurry and your muscles ached.

Soldier: 76 bustled in with a stack of folders at the end of the week. He took one look at you—your hair tidy only because you balled it up in the back of your head with a million bobby pins, your eyes like bloodshot marbles and your skin ashen except for the dark circles under your eyes—and stuffed the folders under his arm. In his legendary gravely voice, he ordered you to get a drink, eat and rest for 24 hours.

With nowhere else to go and nothing to do when you got there, you wandered to the base’s unofficial watering hole. It was really a dumping ground for the comfortable couches that people wanted but not enough to take into their quarters. There was a rough looking pool table that consistently rolled the balls into one corner and a beat up video game cabinet that D.Va and Lucio had reprogrammed to hold a few hundred games rather than the five that were illustrated on the outside. Then, somewhere along the way, someone had dumped a few bar chairs and someone else had patched together a rudimentary bar with mismatched refrigerators behind it that held a variety of types of booze and a never ending supply of tiny foil bags of stale pretzels.

Genji was standing at the bar, staring at a large Pilsner glass that held an inch and a half of clear liquid in the bottom. He glanced up at you and then nervously back down at his glass again. As you stood there stupidly, he reached out and patted the top of the bar beside him. “Come on over. Get comfortable.”

You shrugged and stood beside him. “What are you drinking?”

“Sake.”

You nodded, uncertain what else to say about that. Reaching over the hodgepodge of wood and metal scraps, you picked up a glass and the first bottle that your hand hit. Without even looking at it, you poured a generous amount into the oversized glass.

Genji took a sip of his drink, watching you dispassionately. “Problems?” he asked solemnly.

Glaring at him, you slugged back a mouthful of the potent liquid. It burned almost as much as your eyes, which seemed to water abnormally. “Maybe,” you grunted in return.

He eyed you shortly, taking another sip. “Well, you at least look human.” He sipped his drink again. “Unlike my brother.”

You choked on the swallow in your mouth. Glaring at the cyborg, you forced down the swallow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The man took his own sweet time before answering. “It means that my brother fared infinitely worse than you did.” He watched you closely. “Which leads me to believe that something fairly significant happened on the last mission.”

You flushed again. At least you didn’t have your mouth full of alcohol this time. “And this is your business how?”

His hand curled so tightly around his glass that you were distantly surprised that it didn’t shatter. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. Finally he spat, “He’s my brother.” You said nothing. “And he said—.”

“He said what?!” you demanded. You scowled at him over your glass. “If I ever find him, I’m gonna—!”

Genji suddenly laughed. “You should see your face.” He giggled dryly. “He has, for your information, said nothing. To me or anyone else.” He shrugged, his sake sloshing in the glass. “But, I can tell you that he the worse for the wear.”

You swallowed heavily, setting your glass down wearily. Staring at nothing, you whimpered softly. “Please...tell me.” 

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what I did wrong,” you whimpered. Your eyes blurred with tears and your voice was suddenly raspy and hoarse. “Whatever it was—.”

Genji looked at you sadly. With an elegant shrug, he nodded to himself. “He has said nothing—to me or anyone else. If anyone asks, he either leaves without explanation or excuse or he tries to knock their block off.” The ninja took a slow sip. “He chooses to walk the watches alone.” Looking aside sadly, he added, “He neither eats nor sleeps.”

“But...how? Why?”

“He drinks.” Genji all but dropped the heavy-bottomed glass on the bar. “He drinks too much, drowning it all in sake and moonshine and whatever else he can get.”

You choked down a sob. “But...why? Why won’t he...talk to me?”

Genji looked at you with pity in his eyes. “He has never found it easy to talk to anyone, to confide in anyone or anything.” Glancing away, he smirked sadly. “It was never easy for us to find someone we could trust—someone who didn’t want weapons or drugs or favors or power. And finally, after his fifteenth birthday, he stopped talking at all. He...just stopped.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Genji. “I didn’t ask then and I am not sure that I want to know now. But whatever it was—it shook him down to his foundations. He would listen to our father, but not speak unless he had no choice. He wouldn’t look at any of the women around Hanamura. If I spoke to him, tried to get him to talk about it, he would look at me as if I wasn’t there.”

Tears ran down your face and you wiped them angrily away. “But why?”

Genji shook his head. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you because of how much he hurt.” He sighed. “But now I see that he is hurting even more. He speaks to no one. He does his duty mercilessly. He trains tirelessly. He drinks without ceasing.”

The tall man looked at you with a curious glint in his eyes. “And offhand, I’d say that you might help him.” He reached out gently and touched one of the tears on your cheeks, drawing his hand back with the tear glistening on his artificial fingertips. The tear reflected the faint green gleam of the lights on his cybernetics. “It is not a secret that after the attack you two were...together in the aftermath. And for that, I am sorry.” He glanced at your shocked face. “I’m sorry that it is not a secret, not that you were together.” He shrugged with a series of metallic clicks. “I keep hoping that someone will be there for him.”

Your breath sucked in shakily. Tears were running down your cheeks rapidly and you all but shook with all that you were feeling. There were no words for all the feelings—except that they all hurt.

“Will you go to him?” Genji asked softly. He saw your mouth drop open, ready to answer, and he only raised his hand. “Will you go to him gently? If not as his lover, then as his friend?” You sucked in a shaky breath but he silenced you again. “If you cannot, then we will forget this ever happened and I will spare you both.”

“B-b-but...but...,” you sputtered. “I...I don’t want to hurt him. I never did. I...I just...hurt. I don’t want to hurt anymore.” Your arms wrapped around yourself unconsciously, trying to hug yourself so that you wouldn’t unravel at the seams. “I just don’t understand! What did I do wrong?! What happened? W-was I not good enough?!”

Genji looked at you sadly, but said nothing. Setting aside the two glasses and the alcohol, he gestured towards the door.


	5. Chapter 4

Hanzo squatted low on a precarious jut of cement on top of the building. His hands were raw from the wax coated string of his bow and from the thin leather bands wrapped around the grip. His eyes felt like salt and desert sand had been poured on them. Only his strict discipline kept him upright, his eyes keen and his bow drawn.

The guards were beginning to shift, going to the next position on the rotation. He was tired of watching them circle, but the commander and his procedures insisted on this. He would watch from here for a while and then jump down and then back up to another perch offering a slightly different view. It didn’t matter to him—he would be out here as long as he could stand it and far longer than he was officially required to be here. He didn’t care as long as he wasn’t back in that empty room with that full bottle.

And the weather was cooperating in that. The rain that was starting to pelt him with cold water, clearing out the cobwebs from his head. It rejuvenated him—made him feel less foggy and less weary. Sucking in a breath, he felt the chill fill his lungs, forcing himself to focus, concentrate.

The rain—he must concentrate on the rain. The sound of it hitting the roof and the tiny plinks as it tapped the many antennas and slid down the satellite dishes. It was an early spring rain, soft and gentle and renewing, a blessing to the land and rejuvenating it. The grass would come soon, along with the gentle tides of spring.

There would soon be flowers—tiny white flowers like puffy little bits of fluff on thick beds of green grass. Little bugs would fly through the air and eventually there would be fireflies like tiny lanterns. There was even now the first breaths of spring—a lightness in the air and a freshness in the earth.

And none of it mattered. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

He wanted to see Hanamura just once more, before he died. It would be early spring there, too. The cherry blossoms would be just starting to emerge—little thumbs of papery green and pink. The tea master would be drying the newest tea leaves, scenting the air with their spice. The maiko—apprentice geishas—would be out, walking around in their colorful kimono and learning how to be graceful and beautiful as the older geishas practiced their instruments and dances to perform on the outdoor stages. The shrines would be filled with people eager to write prayers and blessings on the little scrolls and tie them to the tree branches as the priests burned incense to sweeten the air. Downtown the electric and neon lights would light up the evening sky. Ramen shops with wide open windows would be open late into the night for people to walk up and get bowls of umami goodness.

Genji’s birthday was in the spring. His mother, if she were alive, would insist on having sweet cakes baked, along with his favorite meals. Their late father would insist on a wild party—bringing in geishas and musicians and favored business partners early in the evening and then whores and drugs later in the night, long after the legitimate parters had gone home to their families for the night.

He sighed in the rain, feeling it soak his hair and run down his bare shoulder in rivulets. The guards beneath him paced and tossed and turned restlessly, the rain weighing heavily on them as they undoubtedly thought about going back to their warm beds and homes. To those who loved them and wanted them home safely.

He shook his head slightly, scattering drops of water.

He didn’t want to go to Hanamura. He wanted to go home. It was easier to admit it here, in the rain and alone. Most of the time, he didn’t even want to think about it—it was easier to not want if he didn’t think about it, didn’t dwell on it.

He puffed out a restless breath. It wouldn’t matter where it was as long as it was his home. Somewhere that he could sit—just sit—and be warm. Someplace simple would be fine—it hardly needed to be an estate like Hanamura with many rooms that no one sat in and no one visited except to occasionally clean—but a place to sit, to be warm and dry and, most of all, welcome. Nothing too fancy—just a smile, just a warm embrace, a soft word. Somewhere he could lay his heavy bow down and close his eyes and be sure that he could open them again without recriminations, without regrets.

Lately, though, his mind had filled in a hundred more details to his imaginary home. He wanted there to be little white coffee cups with the black and white outlines of cartoon characters you liked on them because you always like to carry one like that with you to meetings. He wanted little vases of your favorite flowers scattered around. He wanted to have a place for you to doodle and a desk for your computer. A pretty place for you to watch the sunsets because he knew you liked that. He wanted a couch so that you could spread the quilt someone made for you over it.

His mind was a hazy blur and he tried to imagine himself beside you. He added a second plush cushion on the floor so that he could watch you in the pink light of the sunset. He put a small hook on the wall to hang his quiver and bow. He put his own huge ceramic coffee cup beside the collection of yours. He tried adding a small mat to put his shoes on when he came in.

He could picture your room quite clearly. There were huge windows with deep sills so that you put plants in them or maybe have a fat cat in the window. The walls would be a pale sage green until you decided on the best color for them. The furniture would be plush and comfortable and the carpet deep. You would have a huge closet—he assumed you would want plenty of room for your clothes, your uniforms, and your weapons—and your desk would be spacious and have a comfortable chair for your reports. Maybe a shelf or two so that when you got awards for your hard work you could have somewhere to put them. Definitely, you would want space to hang pictures.

He tried to picture himself in that spacious room, coming up to give you a cup of the most fragrant and freshest tea he could lay his hands on. Then the vision blurred again. The wide open room with the huge windows and pretty lamps became dark like a cloud entered. He absolutely couldn’t picture himself actually laying on the pristine bed—no matter how much he wanted it.

As he watched the landscape some more, his mind created his own room—a small closet of a room next to yours. It would be dark and small, cold tile or wood and cramped. Inexplicably, the ceiling was claustrophobic low and as filled with shadows as yours was filled with light. The room was barely big enough to hold a futon and a small chest right beside it. It would be enough to hold a few changes of clothes and a few small blades or shuriken. Maybe he wouldn’t put the bow and the quiver out where it would mess up your walls—just a few hooks in his room. He wouldn’t even have a door in case you needed something in the night because he wanted to hear your call.

But would you even call a creature as broken as him?

He shook himself again, annoyed that his mind was wandering (and wondering) again. Perhaps he needed to sleep. Or drink.

Hanzo sighed, glancing over the terrain again. This was not his home, but it was as good a place as any to serve the greater good. A place to put his bow. It didn’t need to be much else—and he didn’t deserve much else.

A half hour later, he was shivering and realized that he needed to go inside. Maybe just for a drink or two. If he fired his storm bow in error, then it could cause everyone become alarmed and start firing at shadows.

Sliding into the shadows, he crept silently down to the roof and began the tedious and circuitous process of checking in, reporting (again) that nothing had happened. The reports were tedious at best since he was only coming in to grab a drink and then go back out.

He walked in through the kitchens. Someone was mopping up—finishing up the cleaning up after the last meal of the day. In a few hours, a new crew would be in to begin prepping for the first watch’s breakfast. With the rain pouring down outside, his footprints would be unnoticed.

In his quarters, there was the standard issue bed, a desk and a chair. The single chair felt lonely and the empty desk only ever held his bow and quiver rather than the usual collection of pictures or personal knickknacks. His small bathroom afforded him the comfort of towels and he dried his bow and his quiver carefully before putting them down.

Still dripping, he sat on the lone chair and opened the large drawer on the bottom and pulled out the large plastic bottle. It was a pleasant bottle with a large label in red and gold on it and the pleasant heft of a large amount alcohol in it.

The skinny drawer over his knees had a pad of paper, three pencils, and a shallow cup with a branch of bamboo painted on the side. Cradling it in his palm, he sloshed a generous amount of alcohol. It was low quality—there was much finer to be had elsewhere—but it did not reek anymore. It was cheap and easy to get.

He drank it in, feeling the burn down his throat. It was his warm welcome and he toasted in the general direction of the bow—the only one waiting for him to return. Shrugging clumsily, he poured himself another one.

It was late, but he didn’t care as he drank the alcohol down. The alcohol burned as he swallowed, but the burn was less this time. The next one would be even less—he knew that from personal experience. Every single one was going to go down smoother and easier than the last and eventually it would be like water.

With enough of it, he could get back up and keep moving. He could deny everything and beat it down and keep moving so that he could escape the sounds and feelings. With a few more drinks, he could go numb. He would be able to go through the halls, ignore everyone except the commanders he was required to give his attention to, he would be able to sit at the monitors or on the perches above everyone.

He swallowed some more and he was sure that the bitter feeling would die down—eventually.

But it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t drowning the sound of his elders as they cursed him. He wasn’t drowning the sound of gunfire or the sounds of people dying. He wasn’t drowning out the sounds of Genji—alive or dead.

He was drowning out you. He was trying to drown the sound of your voice, the amazing sound of your climax. If he closed his eyes, he still taste your sweat on his tongue and see your beautiful body spread out like a feast. He was able to almost feel your skin beneath his fingers, the wriggling of your hips, the shuddering of your body.

He gripped the bottle harder. He didn’t want to remember—not anything. He shuddered violently, his yukata and hakama cold and wet and grating against his skin. He wanted nothing to remind him of how fiery, violent and absolutely unforgettable it all was.

And how much he’d give up to do it again.

If he had been in his right mind, he never would have touched you. He never would have done it. He never would have tried to touch you, never would have asked you to even meet him somewhere, never would have asked you to be alone with him. If he had only been in his right mind, he would have just walked away from you and forced himself to be content watching over you from his post on the rooftops and balconies.

Another drink slid down, tasting and feeling like water.

If he had kept to his meditations, he wouldn’t have touched you. If he had only been disciplined, kept his mind free and his body pure. Not that he was pure, of course.... 

That hurt the most. His violent past and all the horrible things that he had done were etched bone deep inside him. He couldn’t offer you anything—he had literally his clothes, his weapon, and his alcohol. He couldn’t offer you a good man. He couldn’t even look like a good man—he had his past etched in his skin as deeply as it was etched into his soul.

He would give anything to be a good man, the kind of man you deserved. The kind of man who hadn’t grown up killing and with drugs...and whores...and...and....


	6. Chapter 5

Genji led you down the dark hallway silently. He hadn’t said much as you both crept down the halls, just occasionally looked over his shoulder to make sure you were there. And, even though your stomach clenched and your skin felt pale to you, you followed the tall man.

He turned down a rather disused hallway—complete with musty carpets and flickering bulbs with a tiny bug darting around them. Even if Overwatch was at full strength, they kept a few rooms spare in case of emergencies. And since no one was back here, they were rarely used and even more rarely cleaned or repaired.

“Is it always so dark and...ewww?” you asked softly as you went through a dark place in the hallway.

Genji paused at a wall fixture. With a curious tilt to his head, his metallic fingers reached into it and with a twist, the bulb lit up. He stared at it, his face calm as if in meditation. “Now why would someone go through and do that, you suppose?” You looked at him sadly but a little blankly. “Almost as if someone thought that they deserved to be in darkness.”

“No one deserves darkness!” you snapped at the cyborg testily. “No one.”

He smirked at the lit bulb. “I thought that might be your answer.” He turned away gracefully and went to the very next door. With a tilt of his head, he took in a deep breath. You were unconsciously following his actions, and sucked in a deep breath of your own.

The smell of alcohol overpowered the smell of dust and disuse. It was no one alcohol you could name—not honey sweet or flavored like fruit or spicy with rum or cinnamon—but instead seemed to be the smell of cheap. Your eyes watered a little and surely, surely, it was the overpowering smell and not the thought of a hero burying himself in a grave of alcohol.

“Now what?” Genji asked you softly.

You looked at him blankly. “I don’t know.” You gently reached for the knob, but it was didn’t budge. “He’s locked me out.”

Genji sighed and nodded. “He’s good at that.” With the silly grin of a boy who knows he’s going to sidestep his parents and get a cookie before dinner, he twisted one of his cybernetic fingers. The tip came off and from that knuckle sprang out a thin, wiry piece. “It’s amazing what you can do with metal, huh?” He jammed it into the side of the keypad lock and wiggled it around until a soft click sounded. “I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?”

You nodded as the tall man stood. The doorknob slid silently now. Genji looked at you, as you stared at the knob. “It’s open now,” he prodded unnecessarily. You glanced up at him and then at the knob. “I can show you the door, but you have to go through it.” He held up a hand. “Just remember that you promised to go into this gently.”

“I will,” you whispered, suddenly nervous at the sound of liquid being poured and a soft click of ceramics.

“Then I will hope for the best,” he replied. With an open gesture, he added, “Hanzo’s my brother. He has made a lot of mistakes, done a lot of things he considers unforgivable, hurt a lot of people. It’s where he’s coming from.

“But he’s also a good man. He is loyal. He is able to do things others can’t—find and exploit weaknesses to get a job done. He is respectful, faithful, steadfast and disciplined. If he doesn’t drink himself to death, he’s a strong man still.” Genji sighed. “But he is still haunted by the ghosts of many mistakes. I was lucky enough to find my Master, to meditate and learn to forgive myself and others, but he never had that luck.” 

Genji leaned down and pecked you on the cheek. “Show him that forgiveness and he will show you a man well worth forgiving.”

You didn’t know what to say in return, so you nodded. He smiled and nodded back at you, leaving on silent feet back down the hallway. When he left you alone, you were intimidated by the silence that was broken only by the buzzing of the bug around the softly hissing lights. Swallowing heavily, you resisted the urge to burst in and instead you knocked softly on the door.

“Doko ka ni itte,” slurred a husky voice. You didn’t need to speak any Japanese to understand “Go away”.

“H-Hanzo?” you asked.

There was a shuffling, a thudding behind the door. There was a crash—a chair turning over or something—and then silence. Finally, he replied, shouting through the door, “Did...are you from the commander?”

“No,” you sighed. “B-b-but I wanted to talk to you.”

There was an eerie sob and then another pause. “I...I cannot. Not right now.”

“Please? Please come out and talk to me.”

“Not. Right. Now.” His sigh echoed outside the door. “I will—. What do you want?!” he finally demanded.

“To talk to you.” You growled a little, your fist pounding on the door. “Just...maybe....” You paused, trying to think of something. “Look...maybe I want to just talk.” You thought you heard a grouchy, slurry reply, but you went on. “How about after the talent show?”

“As you wish,” he grunted. There was a pause and a shuffle of sound and then nothing more.

After an increasingly long pause, you decided that he wasn’t going to say anything more. “So, I’ll see you there.” You shrugged a little. “I mean...at least until you’ve heard me sing.”

“As you wish,” was the only faint reply and then the teeth-gritting sound of liquid sloshing and the clatter of plastic.


	7. Chapter 6

So, now you were waiting for Jesse to finish. His rendition of “I Got Friends in Low Places” was both ironic and funny and really soft. Soldier: 76 brought out his guitar and set up a harmony causing the audience to go wild. The whole group was clapping in time, mumbling through the words before a loud round of applause.

Finally, you managed to get out as Jesse took yet another bow. He smirked at you, doing a wild kiss in the air and sauntering offstage. You swallowed and went over to the keyboards, playing a few experimental chords.

“Knock ‘em dead, darlin’,” Jesse cooed from offstage. “Got ‘em worked up fer ya.”

You absently nodded and kept playing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hanzo with a tall glass of something and bloodshot eyes, scowling at the stage. He didn’t meet your gaze, only flicking his attention at you before looking elsewhere.

“There are moments that the words don’t reach,” you began. “There is suffering too terrible to name.” You took a deep breath. “You hold your love as tight as you can, then you push away the unimaginable.”

76 gave you a thumbs up from offstage. You smiled nervously, playing the next chords. “The moments when you’re in so deep, it feels easier to just swim down....” You saw Hanzo frown, looking down at his glass, and improvising the lyrics, you sang out, “And so let’s move uptown, and learn to live with the unimaginable.”

Swallowing heavily, you continued, “When I see you on the street, walking by yourself, talking to yourself, I have pity. You would like it uptown, it’s quiet uptown, with you working through the unimaginable.”

Glancing over at the archer, you forced yourself to lamely grin, “Your hair has gone gray and you pass every day, they say you walk the length of a city. You smile at me and I fall apart. Can you imagine?”

His face was pale and pained as you glanced over, playing the chords for the next verse. “Look at where we are. Look at where we started. I know I don’t deserve you, but hear me out, that would be enough.”

Sighing, you tried again to catch his attention, jumping all over the lyrics. “I don’t pretend to know, the challenges you’re facing. I know there’s no replacing what is lost, and you need time. But I’m not afraid. I know my beloved. Just let me stay here by your side, and that would be enough.”

Despite the stiff nodding of 76 and Winston’s interested expression, you saw Hanzo stirring restlessly and decided to cut the song short. “There are moments that my words can’t reach. There’s a grace to powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand. We push away the unimaginable.”

Then for the powerful verse—the one you wanted, no needed, him to hear. “Forgiveness. Can you imagine? Forgiveness. Can you imagine? Can I walk with you on the street, walking by your side? Talking by your side—.” You glanced at the corner and the archer wasn’t there and your voice faltered before dying completely. In complete silence, you ran off the stage, not even seeing who you were running into.

You went clumsily down the hall, holding yourself together by mere threads. In minutes, you were back at your quarters, slamming and locking the door, and then falling on your bed to wail into your pillow.


	8. Chapter 7

Hanzo’s fist hit the wall light, destroying the cheap plastic fixture on the wall and casting his door in shadows. Stalking inside, he slunk to his lone chair and flopped down. You had said forgiveness. What did you know of forgiveness? Of what he was facing?

The way that your voice wrapped around him, soothing him with gentle words and a song that wrapped around him like a vice. It was cool and warm and soft, like salve put on a wound to soothe it. It reached around his discipline to coil around his heart and made it stutter in warmth. Could he imagine?

Oh yes, he could imagine. He could imagine it all with rich details crowding his mind like...he didn’t know what. He had no idea his mind could produce such—as if his own discipline had worked against him to create a rich tapestry of details and sights and sounds.

He saw you, in every beautiful way a man could imagine a woman. Not only in the imaginary house, asleep on that pristine bed, sitting with your black and white coffee cup and bathed in pink sunset light, and stretching out on the couch. He could see it, hear your laughter and soft voice, and smell your perfume.

His body stirred, restless and hot suddenly. Broken Japanese fell from his lips as he staggered to the bed. Even alcohol—the pure, good stuff like he had at Hanamura—couldn’t burn through his veins the way that his mental picture of you did. His fists balled up at his sides and he growled as his mind flitted to intimate portraits of you—laid out on his bed with your arms open, your full and plush lips smiling and open to welcome him, your....

Fuck.

His hakama and yukata felt like sandpaper. He tugged at them harshly, trying to get comfortable—just a moment’s comfort, that’s all he asked. He would pay anything—even trade his worthless soul—for a moment’s comfort, a second’s relief. Pounding the mattress, he swallowed heavily, his throat raspy and dry.

Rolling over towards the desk, he blindly reached for the bottle and poured the liquid down his throat straight from the bottle. Anything was better than this white hot feeling, the burning in his veins and the longing for you. He swallowed some more, hoping that somehow he could shake the feeling that you had wept over his worthless hide.

There was a knock at his door and he ignored it. There was nothing out there for him beyond a pile of paperwork and an endless round of patrols until the next mission. With any luck, he’d be gone on the next one and there’d be nothing for you to cry over. Then a really good guy could come into your life and you’d be happy ever after.

Another knock sounded. He ignored that one, too, drinking more and more. With any luck, he’d be able to ignore it all—especially that small crack in your voice during your song that reverberated in his head.

Genji’s voice sounded out through the alcoholic haze. “Anija! Hanzo, open the damn door.”

Genji. It would be him. Who else would even come down this lonely hallway? Hadn’t he deliberately chosen the least used hall precisely because he wanted to be alone?

Staggering to the door, he jerked and fumbled at it until it opened and the glowing cyborg came in. Then he staggered back to his desk and his beloved bottle.

“Anija,” Genji whispered softly. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Ototo,” he grunted. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching greatness fall,” the younger brother whispered.

Hanzo couldn’t resist a bitter laugh. “Greatness fall?” He took a swallow. “How dare you say that to me?” Genji swallowed uncomfortably. “I have no lower I can go.”

Genji looked at the drunken man. “You have always had greatness, Hanzo. But you do seem to be intent on throwing that away. Or rather drinking it away.” He gestured towards the bottle and the older man snatched it away. “I warned her to be gentle with you, but I had not thought you needed similar advice.”

Genji looked around and found no other seat, so went to the bed. Folding his legs in a meditative pose, he contemplated his brother. “What’s eating you so bad?”

“Nothing,” Hanzo muttered sourly.

They were silent for a moment and Hanzo turned away to his desk. Genji sat still, just watching him. “Take a picture,” Hanzo snapped, fumbling for his cup. “Lasts longer.”

“I could,” Genji nodded, gesturing to a button embedded in the side of his head. “Cybernetic enhancements are all kinds of cool.” He shrugged. “But I’d rather just talk with you.”

“Then talk and be done with it.”

“Tell me what is the matter. What is so wrong with the world that my brother feels he need to destroy himself like this?”

“I am not—,” Hanzo muttered.

“What do you call it then?”

“I am doing—.”

“You’re doing your best to destroy yourself,” Genji interrupted. “You’re doing your very best to destroy the person I love most in the world.”

“The person who killed you.”

“The person who tried to kill me. Who failed—.”

“Yes, I failed,” Hanzo growled. The bottle slung carelessly and sloshed chaotically. “I failed at everything. I failed to protect you from the wrath of the clan. I failed to fulfill my duty to the clan and kill you. I failed to find you.” He slung his fist and the cup went smashing against the wall. “I failed at everything I ever tried.” Genji sat patiently and silently. “Everyone that I ever loved....”

Genji kept watching as the other man kept fingering the bottle. “Anija.... I am still here.”

“Why won’t you leave?”

“I am still here.”

Hanzo scowled over his shoulder. “And I failed at that too.”

Genji cocked his head. “Did you?” He folded his fingers in contemplation. “Failure would imply that you truly wished to destroy me.” As the older man spun around to look at him, he continued. “That is up for debate.”

Hanzo glared at him and took another swig of his drink. “Debate?! How dare you!”

Genji continued folding his fingers. The grin was evident in his voice. “What is the other conclusion? You had the longer ranged weapon, as well as considerable expertise with the katana. You had two dragons to my one. I was wounded and on the ground at your feet. You had orders to kill me and certainly enough expertise to tell whether or not I was actually dead.”

Hanzo nodded uncertainly and Genji continued, “So you left me alive, deliberately. And then you spent an inordinate amount of time drifting from place to place. You became a ghost, doing nothing and going nowhere.”

“What is all this?!” Hanzo snorted angrily. “You are making no sense and these are pointless speculations.”

“Pointless?” Genji queried, his tone mimicking the Omnic monk he followed. “Was it pointless that you returned to Hanamura each year to mark my defeat?”

Hanzo tried to stand, but collapsed back on the chair clumsily. “I did it to honor you!”

“So there was a point?” Genji asked with faux curiosity. “To celebrate your failure?” Hanzo growled angrily. “How strange, to honor a failure.”

“Is there a point to this, Ototo?” Hanzo staggered up. “Otherwise I will thank you to leave.”

“You can barely stand, Anija,” Genji pointed out. “But it seems to me that you have spent a lot of time dwelling on what you think are your failures.”

“They are failures!”

“What if I told you that our battle was hardly a failure to me?” He folded his hands in a new way. “What if my perspective was not that you failed, but that you succeeded?” Hanzo lunged at him, but stumbled clumsily and plopped back down on the chair. “You succeeded in turning away from the destructive path that our father put us on.” Hanzo growled. “You succeeded in giving me a beautiful death—an honorable looking death that prevented the Shimada clan from following me as I escaped. And because of that battle, I found my master who showed me a way of peace such as I had never known.”

Hanzo managed to drag himself up and back to his chair. “How successful I have been.” He took a deep draught of alcohol. “How strange that I have never seen it.”

Genji cocked his head the other way. “Maybe because you persist in seeing things only through one facet.” He folded his fingers into a diamond shape. “Does a gem have only one facet? Or many? If you insist on only looking at one facet, you will not see the fire and color of the others.” Hanzo growled. “And you a man who only sees one facet? Or many?”

“What earth are you babbling about?”

“Try looking for another facet. My personal favorite is ‘forgiveness’.”

“F-f-forgiveness?” Hanzo’s head swam. “No one could forgive me. Could forgive my sins.”

“I forgive you,” Genji countered pleasantly. “Am I no one?”

Hanzo shook his head. “You...you are the...the Dragon of the North. Y-you are my brother.” He sighed heavily, bowing his head wearily. “You are a hero....”

“Am I?” the cyborg queried. “Says who? A couple of internet sites? Random people writing online? Some reporters? A commander? A stranger you will never see again?” He paused for only a moment. “And if you are my hero? What then?”

“Y-y-your he-ero?” Hanzo’s head spun dizzily and he could barely draw together the words, let alone figure out what Genji had said.

“My hero,” Genji nodded. “You always have been, Anija.” He cocked his head. “And it is my fault if I put you on such a high pedestal that you fell when you had feet of clay.”

“C-c-lay?” Hanzo felt his stomach rumble uncertainly.

“You are a man,” Genji explained patiently. “And entitled to forgiveness when you make mistakes.”

Hanzo bowed his head low. Genji’s forgiveness sank in a little deeper, felt a little warmer. “I...thank you.”

“Good,” his brother smiled. “But now you need to accept the forgiveness of another.” Hanzo muttered your name softly. “Yes.... She is ready to offer it to you if you are ready to accept it.”

Hanzo shook his head sadly. “I.... What I did was inexcusable. Unforgivable.” He closed his eyes wearily. “I was—.”

“You were drugged,” Genji commented. “You were not in control—.”

“I should have been!” Hanzo bellowed suddenly. “I should have been in control. I should have protected her.”

“And you did.” Genji shrugged at the evil glare from his elder brother. “Her report said it.”

“I should have protected her...from me.” Hanzo’s voice cracked suddenly. “I should have meditated and protected her from myself, from my appetites and from—.”

“Hey, hey,” Genji protested playfully. “A little delicacy. Virgin ears and all.”

“I should have,” Hanzo insisted, his voice soft, either not registering or ignoring Genji’s sarcastic tone. 

“You should have resisted the gas? You should have chosen to give yourself heart failure instead?” Genji glowered at the surprised man. “Yes...Mercy had to deal with one gallant fool who did have heart failure. He nearly died.”

Hanzo’s voice cracked. “I should have.” He shrugged a little, wearily. “Then she would have been safe.”

“Safe from what, Hanzo?”

“Everyone I love has died,” Hanzo cried out wearily. “The only reason you didn’t was because of the dragon protecting you and the swift action of Mercy and Overwatch. Hardly a wide margin of success.”

“And you don’t want her to die,” Genji said softly. Hanzo nodded shortly. “But you are killing her on the inside right now.”

“What?!” Hanzo felt his head suddenly clearer as adrenaline poured through him.

Genji shrugged a little. “I saw her.” He tapped the cybernetics on his head meaningfully. “I saw her heartbeat spike. I saw her whole body go stiff with panic when you left. I saw that she didn’t finish her song and ran off the stage.” He cleared his throat. “She crashed through Jesse without looking at him and 76 couldn’t even get close to her.”

The cyborg shrugged. “And I know that she was watching you the whole time. She chose a song about forgiveness. She chose to try to sing to you, because she felt her words wouldn’t cut it.” The cyborg folded his hands again. “Yes...her body will live, but what will die in its place?”

Hanzo moaned softly, his head pounding. “I have to go.”

“Where? Back up to your lonely perch so that when she decides she’s had enough, you can watch her go? In that case, be merciful and just cut her down now, Anija. Or, are you going to go to her so that her heart will live?” The older man could barely move, just stared at him. “My Master said that all must die, but that only the courageous can live.”

“She is strong. Courageous.”

“Indeed, but if you cut a tree off from it’s roots, rip out its foundation, then will it live?” Genji sighed, picking himself up. “Her physical body is fine. That will live and, by the actuarial tables, she should have several decades of healthy living ahead of her.”

“If I set her free.”

“And by ‘set her free’, you mean to keep on as you have been?” Hanzo nodded and Genji sighed. “Well, if you are off the market, as it were, I will try my luck with her. She apparently has a thing for dragons, so perhaps she will favor me—!”

Hanzo leapt up and had the cyborg on his back on the bed with a strong hand around his throat. “Do not touch her.”

“You’re the one not touching, Anija.” Genji held his hands up. “You can’t protest if you don’t want her in the first place.”

“I am going to release you,” Hanzo gritted out. “And you are going to stay far away from her.”

“Who is going to make me?”

“I will spend the rest of my life by her side to stop you from defiling her,” Hanzo promised darkly.

“Good,” Genji nodded—as much as he could with the other man’s hand wrapped around his neck. “But—just as a suggestion—take a shower first.”


	9. Chapter 8

You felt wrung out. You had shredded your sodden pillow, alternating between weeping and pounding it. You had ignored Jesse’s soft knock and whatever he had said through your locked door. You had ignored even 76 when he had pounded on your door.

Now you were cried out. There were no more tears in you. You mouth was literally dry and your lips chapped from crying. If the stubborn archer wanted his...his _drink_ more than you, you could shed no more tears on him.

The ruined pillow could go into the trash can and you shoved it in. There was nothing else you could do. At least you tried. Without a clear idea of what to do next, you decided that you needed a shower. Then you could feel clean while you figured out how to retrieve your music from the stage and try to rearrange your schedule so you never had to deal with that man ever again.

The bathroom was a puke tan or a vomit beige—kind of an awful “teige”—but it had towels, a washcloth, and a small shower stall. You dropped your clothes on the floor and turned on the faucets so that a billow of steam greeted you. Its moist warmth was a comfort to you, wrapping around you like arms.

You shook yourself. No sense thinking like that. Nothing was ever going to happen and you didn’t need to dwell on it. You picked up the lotus scented soap and threw it in the trash. At least your shampoo was just a generic clean smell. The next time you got a chance, you’d pick up something not lotus scented. In fact, you’d just replace everything—shampoo, conditioner, body lotion (also lotus scented), soap. It would be better to just start clean.

That thought was funny—starting clean.

The water was pleasantly warm and surrounded you with billows of steam. It helped hide the small beads of water on your cheeks. The makeup dripped down your face and washed away. You spent best part of an hour just standing under the hot water—feeling it wrap around you. But all good things come to an end—and gradually it felt cooler and cooler. When it was cold enough that you realized that your jaw was clenched, you decided that it was enough. You felt clean now and it was time to get out.

You needed to get dried off and dressed. You needed to get your music before someone saw it. You needed to burn that music. You needed a different shift—a new mentor. You needed to request a new pillow.

It was a short list—just the way you liked it. Enough to keep you from brooding and light enough that you didn’t need to worry about it.

Wrapping up in a large towel, you sighed and went out to face your to-do list. When had the lights turned off? Dammit—the bulb must have blown because the fiddling with the switch wasn’t working. Sighing at the dark room, you crept in.

The slice of light from the doorway hit something—a large something—standing against your wall.

Stiffening, you looked at the massive archer. He looked up at you, a painful expression crossing his face. Scowling, you hissed, “What do you want?!”

He flinched, but nodded in apparent acceptance. “I...want.... No, I need to talk to you.”

Sighing, you gestured towards the chair. He bowed his head and walked past you with his head between his shoulders. Sitting quietly, he looked up at you with a half-hopeful look on his face. Stomping over to the closet, you yanked out the fuzzy bathrobe and whipped it around yourself, double-knotting the belt.

Feeling marginally better for being covered, you pulled out an overstuffed beanbag from your days as a cadet to the chair. It was only after you plopped down on it that you realized that you were lower than him, but you hoped your glare carried the message.

He apparently got it too, hanging his head down without looking at you and dropping his elbows to his knees. You let him sit like that for a few minutes, but he was so quiet, so still, you couldn’t bear it. Snorting—you really shouldn’t let him hurt you again—you finally said, “What did you want to say?”

He glanced up at you, his eyes still bloodshot. “I...I wanted to...say that I’m sorry.”

You glared at him, but couldn’t hold it. “Just forget it.” Shrugging as casually as you could, you added, “No harm done.”

He opened his mouth, reached out to touch you, and then saw your face and dropped his hand. “I cannot forget that I hurt you.”

You were going to toss him out. But he pulled his hand back, carefully avoiding touching you and dropped his gaze again, staring at the floor so brokenly that you couldn’t resist listening. “I hurt you—and there is no excuse. I am so used to being alone that it is difficult for me to....to do this.”

He sighed hopelessly. “There can be no excuse ever, but you deserve explanation.” He shot you a quick glance, seeing how unimpressed you were so far, he dropped his gaze. In the sharp light from the bathroom, he looked like a samurai painting and you were silenced—for the moment.

Finally he spoke again. “You do not deserve to be treated as I treated you. You deserve to be worshipped and adored. To have a man who was—is...pure.”

“Pure?” you asked softly with confusion on your face.

He nodded, and looked like he was about to reach out to you but dropped his hand again. Glancing up with a worried expression, he continued as he stared down, “You deserve someone who is true and as good-hearted as you. Someone who is not...me.” He took a quick, shy glance at you, and swallowed heavily. With a gesture towards his tattoo, he sighed, “My sins are carved into my skin and my soul. I cannot give you a good man—only one who is trying to be better.”

This time, when he looked up at you, he saw something—perhaps your eyes or your mouth—and he felt a little hopeful. Reaching out with a shaky hand, he took yours gently. “I was a yakuza—a gangster. The type of evil monster to give people hysterics. For a while, I was even a boogey-man and mothers would tell their children that I would come after them if they misbehaved.”

“Oh, Hanzo—sir—no,” you whispered, gripping his fingers.

He stared at your hand wrapped around his. “I was the plague of Japan. I killed so many, wounded many more, and was going to drown my name in blood. Can such a monster be forgiven?”

“Yes,” you whispered, feeling your eyes prickle with tears. “Of course you can.”

He shook, you could feel the tremble in his hands. “It was not until I nearly killed my brother that I left that life behind. I was...so hollow, so alone. I wandered...walked everywhere. I traveled wherever I could get to—all over Japan, eastern China, even Siberia.” He paused and offered you a smirk. “I have never been so cold.”

His face went solemn. “Then I came here. I thought that I could...could do some good. I had my brother back, my only family, and I thought that this was as good as my life could get. I had the chance to redress the balance—a mission to stop the evil in the world.”

His free hand rubbed his tattoo. “But I guess the evil is truly soul deep.” You shook your head. “All it took was a little gas—.” He spat the last word as if it was poisoned. “—for me to become that monster again.”

Looking down again, he whispered, “I truly never meant for you to be caught in that. I never meant to hurt you.” His hand squeezed your fingers ever so slightly. “If I thought there was any hope that you could forgive me.... I would do anything.”

You stared at his hand, trying to find some words or something to say. He watched you carefully through his lashes, waiting for some sign, some softness. He sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping wearily in an easy motion that suggested the world was heavy on his shoulders and that he was used to being at fault.

“I thought not,” he whispered. “It was...too much to hope for that you would forgive me.” His hand stopped trembling, but it dropped yours to rest limply on his knee. “I.... What I did was inexcusable. If it happened to one of the women under my clan’s protection, then I would kill the perpetrator in ways so horrible that would show everyone the—.” He glanced up at your pale face. “But I have scared you again—like the monster I am.”

He started to stand, suddenly feeling a hundred years older. “I will leave you alone.” It had been a hopeless thing anyway—the dark stain on his soul was too great for anyone to pardon. But his hand—there was a soft tug at his hand. Glancing, he saw that you had grabbed his hand—the softest of vices holding him still.

You looked up at him, watching his face. Ignoring the small tears running down your cheeks, you whispered earnestly, “Please...don’t go.”

He took a deep, steadying breath, watching your hand hold his shaking one. Whirling in some fluid, improbable way, he knelt down in front of you. Pressing his forehead to your hand, he whispered hoarsely, “I would do anything you command to earn your forgiveness.”

Numbly, you tugged at him. “Please...don’t leave like this.” Ever so slowly, you reached out to stroke a thread of hair out of his face. “I...there is nothing—I mean.... Will you tell me what I did wrong?”

Hanzo jerked, his eyes wide and staring down at the back of your hand. “Wrong?!” he whispered hoarsely.

The tears went down a little faster now. “Why? W-why did...? Why ...when we were done, it was like you couldn’t stand to look at me.”

Suddenly, a rusty laugh burst out, harsh and grating and hollow. “Wrong? You did nothing wrong.” Both hands wrapped gently around yours and cradled your hand like a precious jewel. “You were so pure, so bold and so....” He looked up at you with a gleam in his eye. “I was so proud when you were going to cover the others.”

He shrugged in self-depreciation. “I had heard about the bombs—about what they did. I saw it roll near you. I did not want.... I did not want that to happen to you.”

“So you took it—jumped in to get hit instead of me.”

He nodded. “I did not want anyone so good to have to go through that.”

You were openly crying now. Looking around, you slid down to kneel beside him on the floor. “You took that hit for me.”

He was shaking now, cradling your hand. “I was arrogant, foolish. I thought that my meditations would allow me to void the poisons without—.”

“Without touching me?” You shivered and traced a finger down his arm. “But that would—. Your heart.”

He shrugged. “Would the world be so much better with me in it?” A slow, rough finger traced your knuckles. “I thought...I could keep you safe.” His mouth twitched into what might have been a grin. “I feared dying less than the thought of you being hurt.” He hands twitched nervously. “Especially being hurt by me.”

“You would never hurt me,” you smiled feeling like you finally had the right words.

He shuddered. “And yet I did anyway. The way that I took you was...evil.” He looked up at your face mournfully. “You deserved to be courted gently, to be shown pleasure, not to be ground into the floor like a gaishou.” He sighed. “I should be drawn and quartered for that.”

Your cheeks flushed. “But.... What if I liked it?”

His eyes went wide. “W-w-what?”

“What if,” you whispered. “I liked it?” You paused. “I thought it was...hot.”

He looked at you for a moment in disbelief. “You do not mean that.”

Grunting, you shook your head. “I...I liked it.” You shuddered. “I mean, I was sore and ached in all kinds of ways—all kinds of nice ways—but when you didn’t even look at me afterwards, that’s what hurt.”

He shuddered and licked his lips nervously, watching you carefully. “I.... I never wanted to hurt you. I was...so ashamed of how I acted, I could not face you.” He leaned down and kissed your knuckles gently. “I want.... I don’t.... I’ll never walk away from you again.”

“Does that mean that you would do it again?”

His face lit up all too briefly before it darkened again. “You cannot...mean that you...want me to....” He shuddered violently. “I...I controlled you—.”

You frowned a little, looking deep into his eyes. “You said that you needed me to obey. Why?”

“It is so...defiled,” he spat. He shuddered so violently that it seemed like he would fall apart at the seams. “It is shameful.”

Encouraged in some explicable way, you wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to you. Gently pressing his head into your shoulder, you dropped a kiss on his hair and whispered, “You...you can tell me.”

His arms wrapped around you. “I have told you that I would do anything for your forgiveness.” His arms then dropped wearily and helplessly. “If you command it, I will.”

“Tell me,” you whispered. “I think it would help.” You squeezed him gently. “Not for my forgiveness, but because I want you to forgive yourself.”

He nodded, shuddering as though he were in heavy snow. “It began...long ago. When I was fifteen, I was...engaged.”

His eyes clouded with remembered pain, pleading as he pulled up to look at you. Sighing, he didn’t hold your gaze and glanced down like a school boy confessing in front of his teacher. “I.... My father—he was...old fashioned, even for the master of one of the oldest yakuza clans in all of Japan. He arranged the marriage when I was seven.

“We were allowed to meet—mainly at family parties and during new year celebrations. I thought she seemed polite and respectful and like she knew what she was getting into being with me.” He shuddered. “I...I was foolish and young. Mostly foolish. And I fell in love with her.”

You shuddered too, but gripped the hard body of the archer harder. “W-w-was she beautiful?”

He moaned softly and embraced you tenderly. “Not so beautiful as you. Not where it counts.” He swallowed, his throat so dry that his swallow shook you both. “She was like a porcelain doll—smooth and perfect and so cold. And like a porcelain doll, she was empty inside.”

“W-w-what happened?”

“It is foul,” he warned.

“I will be here,” you offered. “No matter what.”

“The night of my fifteenth birthday, we were celebrating. My father threw a party—with fireworks and dancers and—,” He shuddered and his cheeks went hot. “—whores. Everyone knew what we were. There were people everywhere doing whatever they wanted—some were drinking, some were fucking in the corners and some were doing drugs. Whatever they wanted, however much they wanted, and however they wanted.

“I did whatever I wanted and no one would tell me no. It was my party and I grabbed some of the drinks. They were foul, but I wanted to be a man that my father would be proud of, so I drank them anyway. Then I saw some of the other boys taking a shot of whiskey with some red pills. The older men were looking at them and nodding and I thought that they were proud of the boys, so I did it too.”

You moaned softly. “Hanzo....”

“I did it a few times, to show them all and maybe one of them would tell my father that I was tough.” He shook violently and his fingers released you to claw his own skin. “I...I do not remember much after that—just being sick in a corner—and thinking I was going to die. I ran to my father’s office to get help.

“I found him there.” You felt him tense in your arms. “With my fiancée.”

“Oh no,” you moaned softy, peppering his hair with kisses.

“He had her spread on his desk, naked. He was...inside her. She was moaning and had her legs around his waist, begging him. When I reached for her, she smacked my hands away. She told me that she would be done in a minute—after he gave her the drugs she wanted.

“My father laughed and told me that I could be next when he was done. He finished and pulled out, tossing a bag of some of our best product at her. She laughed and spread her legs, my father’s seed dripping down on his desk. She told me that I could have her next, as long as I gave her some more drugs.”

“Poor Hanzo,” you whispered, but you knew he didn’t hear you. More was bubbling out and no one could stop it.

“I told her that she was not supposed to be a whore. She told me to stop being such a wimp. I pulled her off the desk and she was mad when I took the drugs back and tossed them in my father’s trash can. She was foul—filthy from my father—and crawled to the trash can to get them back.

“I told her that I would not marry someone who was so foul as to let my father do that to her. She laughed and told me that as long as he was giving her drugs, she’d let him do what he wanted. When I forbade her and told her that she would be poisoning herself, she laughed and said that she’d just go to Genji.

“I couldn’t believe it. But as soon as she dressed, she took two of the pills and then asked if I had any more. I told her no—that I forbade her from doing it since it made me so sick. She laughed and left.

“I was sick in the trash can. I think it saved me—that I got the drugs out of my system—but when I managed to get back to the party, I saw her going up to Genji and start laughing and whispering in his ear.” He shrugged. “And as far as I know, she got what she wanted. I sent her away after the party and broke the engagement.”

You held him closely, patting his wild hair and kneading his tight muscles. “I’m so sorry, Hanzo.”

“I am well rid of her,” he whispered. “She was an evil woman.” His hands restlessly traced your side. “But I never wanted to...hurt like that again. I never wanted a woman to....” His hands grasped your sides firmly. “I could not bear it. Not again.”

“I would never do that,” you insisted.

He smiled sadly. “I know. You would never be so...dishonorable. You are too pure, too good.”

He shuddered. “Then the gas. It made me...crazed. I could not control my lust. It was worse than those drunks and drink. I wanted to hold you, smell you, and it was more than I could bear. I needed you, your body, your softness.” His voice cracked a little. “I wanted you to be beside me, to tie you to me. I wanted to pull you so deep inside that you could make me as pure and good as you.”

“I am not that pure. That good. Don’t put me on a pedestal.”

“I have heard about clay feet before,” he smiled sadly and thoughtfully. “I thought...if I could control it—if I was in control of the...the intercourse, that it would spare you. I thought it was the only way to protect you from what I was and if I did not, I would finally become a monster who would hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me, Hanzo,” you whispered against his forehead.

He swallowed again and nodded. Ever so softly, so slowly, he raised his hand and gently traced your collarbones. “You are...so soft.” He shuddered again and you ignored the soft pat of a drop of water dropping from his face onto your skin. “I wanted to be in control because I thought that if I was in control, if I was disciplined, I would not—.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you whispered. “Don’t.... I am not hurt.”

Hanzo tensed into a smaller ball, his muscles even tighter. “Do not spare me or my feelings.” He took in a shuddering breath. “A monster who does those things, who almost killed his brother, who abandoned his family—does not deserve it.”

You closed your eyes tightly, searching for words. “D-d-do you trust me?”

He paused, listening and silent. “I will trust whatever you tell me.” His fists balled up. “I will do whatever you ask.”

“Then trust me.” You gently took his jaws in your hands, tilting his head up to look at you. “I am not hurt. I know that you would never hurt me. And—,” You cocked your head, praying that pretending that you were confident would lead to actual confidence. “—I am telling you that I...I cannot forgive you.” His face fell and he started to nod, but you held tight to his head. “Because there is nothing for me to forgive.”

His eyes snapped open, pinning your gaze. He whispered something under his breath. “Is...?”

“It is the truth,” you insisted. “I tell you the truth—there is nothing to forgive.” You sighed and leaned closer to him. “You took nothing that I did not want to give. I l-l-loved what you did to me. Trust my truth.”

His face cleared abruptly, as though the truth pouring over his head relieved his pain. It was beautiful, watching his entire body relax and be at peace. His breath slid out and you saw some kind of miraculous burst of relief.

His voice shook as much as his hands. “Thank you.”

Nodding and dabbing at your eyes, you shivered and stood up. He staggered upright, suddenly looming and muscular compared to you. He smirked a little, turning to leave, and was surprised again as you held on to his hand.

“Come here,” you whispered, pointing to the bed. “Show me....”


	10. Chapter 9

He stumbled, gamely followed you as you led him to the bed. He stared at the bed dumbfounded. Looking at your face, he whispered, “I.... A-a-are you sure?” He smirked a little bit more. “You do not need to do anything for me.”

You smirked back at him. “What if I want to?” You saw him lick his lips unconsciously as a light shiver went through him and felt your confidence soar. A man of the world, a man who had seen probably every beautiful woman in it, was hungry...for you. He was eager to please you, eager to prove himself to you. Perching on the edge of the bed, you were somehow not surprised to see him kneel at your feet. “What if I want you to?”

His rough hands still shook and he was still achingly slow and gentle as he took your foot in his hand. He brought it to his chest and kissed the top gently. “I only ask that you tell me...if I scare you or hurt you.”

“Of course,” you agreed softly as his hands began massaging your feet. His rough hands gently flexed your muscles, tickling your toes. Goodness, the man knew how to soothe tired feet and you moaned softly.

He looked up at your sound, his hands freezing in place. “Am I—?”

“No,” you whispered, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. “It feels amazing.”

He straightened up a little, his lips definitely smiling now as he watched you. “You relax in my hands,” he whispered in amazement. “You...are not...afraid.” You moaned again as his hands moved up to your calves, his eyes closing briefly in plain amazement. “You are beautiful in your courage.”

You began quaking in his hands. Your eyes were having problems staying open and if that man didn’t stop massaging you, you would sink into a puddle in the bed. A quick glance at him and you saw that his back was straighter, his eyes more confident and a smile on his mouth. Whimpering, you felt your muscles turn to mush.

Dear God, you hoped you were doing the right thing because right now you were putty in his hands.

His hands paused on your knees and he pressed a small kiss to one of them. “We can stop here. I will fetch you something to drink—some hot tea.”

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered in reply, opening one eye.

He laughed softly. A finger traced down your shin smoothly. “I will dare anything you want.”

You chuckled in reply and slid off the robe, tossing it aside. He let you go, let you stand and then climb back on the bed and kick the sheets aside. Laying down on the pine colored sheets, you patted the mattress. “Come here.”

He stood shakily, watching you with a hungry warmth in his eyes. “I...I had never thought you would want me on your bed.”

“C’mere, Samurai,” you chuckled. “I don’t make love standing up.”

“Samurai,” he hissed. “You think of me as a samurai?” You nodded, as amused at his stillness as he was amused by your comparison. “I will try to live up to that.”

“Just leave the clothes behind,” you hissed. His face told you how glad he was to obey you. They were on the floor and he had his woven belt folded in his hand to put on the floor when you caught his eye. “And keep that handy.”

He started, his cheeks flushing. Climbing on the very edge of the bed, he offered you the belt and was even more startled when you simply offered your wrists. Shaking his head nervously, he stuttered out, “T-This is for you, to show you—.”

“This is for us,” you whispered. Giving him a saucy wink, you offered your wrists again. “Besides, how am I supposed to learn how to do this if you do not show me?”

“Y-you want to do this? Again?” His voice rumbled. “With me?”

“And again and again,” you nodded as his hands shakily wrapped the belt around your wrists. The belt was firm bordering on loose—you could get out if you really wanted—but it was a lovely feeling to be in his hands again.

He nodded shakily, brushing your arms over your head. This time, he was achingly slow as he pressed a rain of kisses down them. More kisses pressed across your chest as softly whispered Japanese filled the air.

While before you were lit up like a firework, now it was a slow, sensual burn that went higher and higher. He watched your face like a hawk for every reaction. Every lick was deliberate and patient—lick, watch, wait. Fire kept licking your loins and your lips were between your teeth as he leaned on one elbow and free up one hand to begin tracing random patterns on your skin.

“Ohmigod,” you gasped as he dipped his head to suckle your breast like a child and his free hand drug down your belly towards your aching cunt. His hand stopped, whirling over your navel and his eyes flickered up to watch you carefully. “Don’t fucking stop.”

His lips vibrated as he hummed out his pleased response. His fingers trailed down again, gently sliding between your intimate lips to swirl in your moist heat. With a succulent pop, he glanced up at you and dipped his finger shallowly. “You have such a filthy mouth.”

He licked your tight nipple and blew a puff of air on the tight nub. You whimpered and tugged gently on your wrists and he smiled. “I want you to be ready for me.” His finger plunged deeper, testing the thick moisture. “I want you burning for me like I am burning for you.”

You nodded shakily as most words were beyond your ability to speak. Your legs splayed open in eager invitation. He began sliding his finger in and out slowly—from the knuckle to the tip and back. Somehow he wiggled onto his elbow so that his other hand was tweaking your nipple and breast.

Fire and amazing electric energy pulsed back and forth between your sopping cunt and your breast. You shook as he gently added a second rough finger that crooked up to touch that sweet spot that made you squeal. He pressed that spot again, a wicked grin on his face as his callous scraped your tender flesh. “Like that do you?” You nodded mutely. Unfortunately, your eyes kept rolling back and you could barely glance at his pleased expression.

Then he began gently scissoring his fingers, feeling you gush at the sudden stretch and release. Your wail filled his ears and your slick dripped down his fingers to his palm. He withdrew long enough for your eyes to pop open. He grinned at you and licked one finger before pressing the other one to your lips.

“Taste your sweetness,” he whispered hoarsely.

You opened your mouth and took his finger in. You were tangy, the flavor a little unfamiliar and thick. His whole finger was in your mouth, you were contentedly sucking when you felt the tip of his tongue on your clit.

You spasmed, your legs tightening and your mouth sucking even harder, as he lapped at your clit. The way he rolled his tongue around it was astounding, lighting up lasers across your nerves. The climax rocketed through you suddenly and the shriek that came out echoed in your room.

Your body clenched as his fingers pulled out of your mouth and went back to your cunt. He plunged them back inside, allowing you to ride out the climax on his fingers. The afterglow filled you as his fingers kept moving.

Panting, you felt his fingers slow down and slide less and less. You looked at him—somehow his eyes were even darker and blown wide—as you twitched in the aftermath. With a soft smile, he waited for you to come down before starting a deep and soothing rhythm.

“Trust me, my blossom,” he whispered against your belly.

You nodded as he set up a steady pace. Out of nowhere and without warning, he plunged in fast and deep, forcing a squeal out. Shakily, you looked at him as he just as suddenly went back to the steady rhythm with a placid and soothing smile on his face.

Fuck that was hot. You’d barely be settled on his steady rhythm when he’d plunge just as deep as he could. The surprise would cause you to curl and writhe, but then back to his steady rhythm bringing you down to a shaky simmer. It was electric that you could never predict exactly when that fiery plunge would occur—or how long it would last.

His mouth was busy too—spreading kisses and soft words all over your flesh. His tone was like warm honey as he praised your goodness, your forgiveness and your beauty. He licked you cautiously, waiting as your eyes screwed shut and your muscles tensed so much that you shook underneath him.

It pleased him that you didn’t even try to move your arms or escape the bindings. It was probably depraved—tying you down like an animal—but it was what you wanted. You said it was what you wanted and he trusted your words.

He could believe you—that thought rang in his mind. He could believe your words. You wouldn’t betray him. It wasn’t like before. You were true, courageous. Your actions matched your words every time. He could breathe in your truth, trust it and believe in you.

The flickering in his veins—the embers that seemed to constantly burn ever since he first saw you—began to glow brighter. It felt like the drifting sparks from every firework and sparkler he had ever seen were flowing through him. He kept licking you, tasting you, and trying to draw everything in and brand it into his memory in case you never let him do this again. If you never let him do this again, he would instantly be able to summon the taste of your pleasure, the scent of your musk, the heft of your breasts and the feel of your hair in his hands from his memory.

And he was a hundred percent devoted to convincing your body to let him in again and again.

You shook in his hands, half words spilling out in an incoherent stream. As his tongue dipped into your slick cunt, you began chanting his name as sweat poured off your body. It was like a match to gunpowder, sending a sweet, swirling fireworks from his dumbfounded mind to his groin where his cock throbbed in anticipation.

“Waga no hana—my blossom,” he whispered. Plaintively, he lapped at the sensitive skin of your neck, and he whimpered softly in your ear. You shivered at the tone, deep and reverent. “Let me love you.”

You shook as his hand kept sliding in and out. Words were beyond you right up until he his finger pounded into you with one of his surprising hard thrusts. “H-h-hanzo!”

“Waga wa koko in iru, waga no saiai no hito,” he whispered against your ear as his stealthy tongue lapped at your ear. “I am here, my beloved.”

“Let me love you,” he repeated nipping at your collarbone and thrusting his fingers in and out.

“Yes,” you ground out and he suddenly pounded hard too few times. Your climax was building and building and there was so way you could drag yourself to the edge yourself. He was masterfully in control of you and the composer of your pleasure. “Please. Please.”

He smirked into your lips. “I want you.”

You spread your legs wide. Even when he raised himself up, granting you release, you were helpless below him. Your dripping cunt throbbed in anticipation as your eyes dropped to his hard manhood. Your body tingled even more at sight of the creamy drops at the tip.

“I...please. Please, Ma-ma-master,” you whined.

His eyes opened wide and then hooded as a wicked smile spread on his face. “Am I your master?” He pulled his finger out achingly slow as you nodded desperately. “Then, you are...my toy.”

He slid a hand into yours, threading your fingers together. With a wriggle and a wickedly slow curl of his hips, his cock went from a gently moist tip at your entrance to filling you. He went so slow, holding your hand and judging exactly what speed and pressure you liked. He even stopped halfway in, pausing to lap at your breasts like a cat with cream. When your trembling shivers paused, he took his time to let you get used to his body stretching yours.

Kuso—he cursed in his head. You were so tight. Your body was so warm and wet and welcoming, pulling him deeper and deeper. You were drenching him with you warm, wet slick. He held your hand to reassure himself that you weren’t afraid, you weren’t resisting, but he could feel your grip was loose and relaxed. He could feel your arousal as your thighs clamped around his hips, instinctively hooking to lock you both together. He could hear it in the breathless whimpers and begging. He could taste it each time that he dipped a cautious finger to your clit and it came back to his lips covered in your musky honey.

Shivering, he forced himself to keep going slowly. If he let loose, he was sure to scare you with the relentless pace his body wanted to set. His mind was on fire and flickering with incinerating images of all the ways he wanted to pleasure you—fast and hard and slow and with his mouth and from behind and whatever else he could think of. When you wailed and shook, falling over the edge, he snapped his hips hard three or four times and felt your fierce cry in his bones.

“Little koneko,” he whispered. “I need—.” His words faded as the last tremors gripped his throbbing cock. He cursed again. “I need...more.”

“Master,” you panted. “Please.” You took in a gasping, shuddering breath. “Show me what you need.”

He growled in pleasure. “You ask much of your master.” Both hands released you and settled on your hips. “But, since you ask so nicely....”

He pumped his hips fiercely as fast as he could. It felt like he was unleashed at last. Throwing back his head, he howled as the fire consumed him. You felt so good, a divine feast to sate his touch-starved hungers.  His cock kept throbbing as he kept driving in deeper and deeper. You were shaking all over—your hips in his hands, your cunt swallowing him, your words as they came out.

The fire went higher when you clenched down on him again. Straight from your body into his cock and if he didn’t get deeper, his heart would give out right here on the bed. His mind was already dizzy and drunk with pleasure. Taking in a deep breath, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to slow down—his hips sliding more slowly and less violently.

You wailed as he slowed down, already curling up for your next climax. He panted, “Slow down, my pet. Slow down. Enjoy what we have now.”

You shook your head wildly. “I.... You can’t stop now!”

“Who is stopping?” He chuckled softly, holding your hips as they tried to thrust wildly. “Just...taking our time.” He bent over you to lap your neck. “Your master wants you to be thoroughly pleasured.”

He pulled out and you shrieked, “No no nononono! Put it back!” His dark laughter echoed and he withdrew further back. You wailed again right up until his tongue lapped your aching clit and two fingers slopped inside.

He smiled, his tongue lolling around your clit. He scissored his fingers again—scraping against that patch inside that made your scream. You clamped down, your legs trembling as you felt your second climax thunder through you. Your shuddering muscles actually jerked his hand as you rode out your pleasure.

He thrust in and out slowly, waiting for your aftershocks to fade. In a peaceful and placid tone, he asked, “Do you know the best thing about little koneko pets?” You shook your head weakly, tendrils of your hair plastered against your sweaty brow. “They can cum and cum and cum. More and more.”

Your voice shook, thin and reedy. “Master.”

“Just one more time, pet,” he whispered. His fingers began moving in and out, sliding in and out. “I want your pleasure...just once more.”

You were shaking. You couldn’t help it. “P-please.” What were you begging for? You had no idea. Your hands, while they were free in a technical sense, were locked into place by his will alone. Your eyes were dewy, filled with tears for some reason you couldn’t name. “Please, M-master.”

“You beg so prettily,” he hummed, raising up to kiss on a tear on your cheek. He slid home slickly, the very tip of his tongue on your earlobe. “But why the tears? There should be no tears here.”

You felt his concern, heard his voice tremble just a little. “I...! It feels so...so good.”

He smiled in relief and began thrusting again. “Koneko. Kitten. Just one more time—trust me.” He nipped you gently, causing you to jump. “I will trust you—as long as you trust me.” He felt your muscles clench, gently rising up to meet his thrusts. “I will give you pleasure.” He let one furious thrust and felt you clench again. “I...still need to reward you, remember?”

The word “remember” was black velvet around you. Your mind instantly jumped to the white hot words on board the drop ship. Your eyes went wide as images flicked through like burning paper—the tightly controlled fury on the archer’s face, the heated words, the white hot passion. Instantly you began rocking against him. Hot slick dribbled down your thighs. Flames came back, licking along your nerves.

“Master,” you panted.

“One more time,” he promised. “I will let you feel the pleasure you deserve.” Recklessly, he panted in your ear. “You will feel pleasure—just one more time. My patient kitten.”

You bent double and all but sat up. “I want you to feel pleasure, too.”

He growled, a soft echo of his earlier howl. “I am pleasured, my pet.” His hands ran soothingly over your skin. He purred in your ear. “I am happy to pleasure you.”

You shook in his gentle hold. “Please. Please, master.” You tried to hold his sweat-slicked skin with your bound hands, but fumbled. Of course, his arms were around you—you didn’t drop back more than an inch. “Please master. I want your cock. Your cum.”

He remembered the drop ship too and shuddered, his cock jerking. “Cum. All over you.” He laughed darkly as you nodded. “Then that will be your reward.”

He laid you back down gently with his arms under you and positioning you for deep, even thrusts that shook you to your core. He kept surprising you with sudden thrusts, waiting for that breathless moment when your eyes were unfocused and cloudy with pleasure, your mouth swollen with his kisses, and your breath panting in and out.

“I want you,” you whispered. “All over me.”

He laughed—partly in relief and partly in remembered pleasure. “As you wish.”

And so, with another howl, he began thrusting—his hips snapping. His entire body went electric and began shaking as he poured his power into thrusting. To his amazed surprise, you wailed back at him, your body suddenly locking around his again. Your hips met his hilt deep, grinding against him like you were possessed.

His mind went white hot as he rocked against you. He growled, holding your shoulders so that you were pinned in place and that you didn’t lose an inch of his thrusts. The words spilled out almost against his will.

“Mine! All mine.”

Your eyes went wide and it was like your mind shut down. He could see it—see you clench around him and the way that you were just shaking and moaning. You moaned back at him, “Mine. My...my master.”

It goaded him to fuck you harder as if you had dug spurs into his hips. His cock was aching for this, begging for release. “Mine,” he whispered in your ear as you hissed in arousal. “Mine!” His hips snapped forward. “Mine! All mine!”

Your mouth was open, lolling as you struggled to bring in a full breath. He nipped your lip, making you writhe uncontrollably. The twisting grated against his sensitive flesh and set it aflame. “All mine,” he cried out again. “Mine. All mine.”

The climax boiled up under his skin. The more that he claimed, the further he pressed that claim, the more it scorched him. “Mine.”

You stiffened slightly, your eyes going wide before fluttering shut. Your breath caught in a thin whine and that scorching cunt knotted around him. He breathed the word in your ear, “Mine”, and felt you twist slowly as you fell over the edge.

Explosively, he snapped into you with another raging howl. The molten climax was barely contained in his cock, and he desperately chased his own pleasure. “Mine! All mine!” His back arched and he howled again as he fell over the edge, chanting, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

He dropped, catching himself on his forearms. Sweat dropped off of him as he moaned in his afterglow. His whole body shook in pleasurable aftershocks and he panted, closing his eyes as his body shivered. It was too much for him to process just now: this pleasure, this acceptance, this forgiveness. His eyes screwed tight and he shuddered in shame at the tears leaking out.


	11. Chapter 10

Your timid kiss shocked him. He almost flinched, muscles coiling suddenly and his eyes suddenly wide open. Your heart—your pounding heart that was still recovering from his generous pleasure—melted at the small undertone of shock and fear in his face. It was like on some level, he did not believe that he was not going to be betrayed. Licking your lips and pressing another gentle kiss on him, you smiled, “My master.”

He snorted bashfully, reaching wearily up to unwind the belt. Your arms fell weakly around him, holding him close. His eyes would not meet yours either, but he didn’t let you go. Looking aside, he sighed, “Were you pleasured?”

You smiled at him, getting your weary arms to hug him close. “More than I ever thought possible.”

He shuddered. In a voice that sounded lost, “I do not want to go.”

“Then don’t,” you replied softly. “We’ll be cramped but we can—.”

“I will move my things to the room beside yours,” he interrupted. His arms clenched and then relaxed. “I will not be....”

“Will not be what?” No sooner did you ask the question then you were wishing you hadn’t.

His voice shook. “I will not be a problem. I will not impose on you.” His face flushed and looked away. “I will be your protector.”

“Damn straight,” you mumbled against his hair. “You’re not going anywhere.” You shuffled and scooted until there was a free space on the bed. “You’re staying here.”

He shuddered, mentally shuffling through the images of his dark and cramped space beside yours. “I...do not deserve to be here.” He sighed. “It is....”

“It is ours now,” you said hopefully. “I want you here. With me.” You hugged him again. “I want you to be here—with me.” You gently brought his face up to look into his eyes. “Don’t leave me—not now.”

He shuddered. “Help me,” he whispered against your skin. “I do not want to be alone in the dark anymore.”

“I’m here,” you agreed, stroking his hair. “I don’t want you to be alone either.” His body shuddered, but he didn’t brush your hands away either. “And now I know I don’t want to go to bed alone.”

“I am at your disposal,” he bit out.

“No!” You hissed at him. He recoiled and sat up, blinking in confusion. “You are not at my disposal.” You scrambled up, ignoring the warm liquid dripping out of your body. “You are....” You sighed, hoping against hope that he’d listen. “You are an amazing man. A man I don’t want to live without.”

“I will be yours,” he promised, bowing his head regally as though he were taking a solemn vow. “I will do anything to stay beside you.”

“Then,” you smiled as your eyes sparkled with inspiration. “I want you to stay here. With me.” You looked around, thankful your room was clean. “I want you to be my lover, Hanzo.”

“W-w-what?!” 

You glanced down at your hands as they cradled your stomach. “I want you to be mine. Like you said—I want to be yours.” You shuddered. “I like the idea of being yours. Your lover. You and me becoming an ‘us’. And...if there is a children—.”

“Kodomo?” His face was shocked, but then went red. He hadn’t thought ahead—hadn’t thought about the possibilities of a child resulting from all this. Or had he? He hadn’t consciously intended to bind you to him with a child, but, base creature he was, he wasn’t above using it to tie you to him, to secure his place at your side. “Children....”

“I don’t want to raise them alone,” you whispered, well aware that his innate honor would demand that he stay with you if there was any possibility of a child. “I want them to know that I love their father. I want their father to teach them archery. I want their father to be in their lives and to be with me as...as my husband and the love of my life and not as some kind of...adjunct or something.”

He looked up at you seriously, as though measuring your words for truth. He shuddered like a ship changing course. “Be...mine.”

“Finally,” you smirked. “You’re getting it.”

He laughed a little at your sarcasm. “Be mine.” His hand gingerly reached out to stroke your hair and smiled in pleasure that you did not retreat from him. “Be the light to my darkness. Be my pet and my teacher.” He took your hand and kissed it gently. “I do not know if I am worth your time—worth your loving—but I will endeavor to be worthy of you in any way I can.”

If you hadn’t been utterly worn out, you would have leapt at him to wrap him in a hug. As it was, you lurched towards him—intimately aware that your muscles were starting to ache—and held him. Tears filled your eyes and you nodded softly. “Be mine. Be my master and my teacher. Be the one to fill my nights with love.” You sighed happily. “I do not know if I am worthy, but I will do everything in my power to make you happy and show you that you are a man worth loving.”

And, years later, that was the story Hanzo told his children and grandchildren about how the Dragon of the South found forgiveness and changed his course to walk in the light as a hero and as the man you loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for badly translated Japanese. Blame google. (Sorry google.). If you have better translations, then PLEASE tell me and I’ll give you credit. Not to mention I will also beg you to beta-read my further Hanzo fiction.
> 
> Thanks to cell007 (with the cute Lucio pic) for correcting my Japanese. 
> 
> So, sex pollen is one of my favorite themes and what would be more crack-y than the very last person in the entire Overwatch universe to possibly unwind and do something like this?


End file.
